


Breaking and Entering

by thezombieintheroom



Series: Red Room!Clint [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I'm going to die a thousand deaths for this, M/M, all revolving around Red Room!Clint Barton, this is actually going to be part of a semi-related group of drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezombieintheroom/pseuds/thezombieintheroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint knew something was off about the apartment when he first walked in, but he ignored it. First day back in Russia after three months, things were bound to be off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking and Entering

**Author's Note:**

> In which Yasha breaks into Clint’s apartment, they have a little angst, get into a fight, and then have make up sex.
> 
> Okay well, this is my first time posting so, please leave helpful comments and tips, I'd seriously appreciate it. Now, onto the actual explanation for this. On Tumblr, I RP as a Red Room version of Clint, where, instead of going to SHIELD, he goes to the Red Room after he gets shot by Barney on Russian soil. While in the Red Room, he gets assigned as James Barnes' charge and is introduced to both Yasha and Bucky. When he meets Yasha, the thief takes a sort of unhealthy obsession with Clint.
> 
> This is going to be a series of drabble prompts given to me because of me and my lovely RP partner who writes a lovely Winter Soldier, Bucky, and Yasha.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, seeing as I don't have a beta.
> 
> Also, anything like this: "" is spoken in Russian.

At first, nothing seems out of place. The door to his loft seems normal— in that it looks the same as usual and that it looks like every other door in his complex, except for the number. Installing a retinal scanner or key pass would bring too much unwanted attention in an already sketchy area of Chechnya. It’s late and Clint’s extremely exhausted, spent too many hours on one too many planes. But, when he slips his key into the hole and unlocks both the top and bottom locks and steps into the warmth of his apartment, every single nerve ending is set on edge, screaming at him that something’s wrong.

 

Of course, Clint knew something was off about the apartment when he first walked in, but he ignored it. First day back in Russia, things are bound to be off. And it has nothing to do that, rationally, if someone were to break in, he’d know immediately. He has some of Department X’s finest security equipment wired throughout his house. He’d know if someone so much as threw a stone at his window. And, the only way to get around all the alarms was to unlock the door with a key.

 

The very key Clint had in his hands.

 

He rolled his eyes and shucked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes before trudging his way towards his living room, flicking on the light in his bedroom on his way by. He paused right before he got to the kitchen, backing up a little and stepping into the room. He looked at the picture frame he kept in front of his safe— a bit cliché, but it actually did work, thank you very much— the crooked picture frame, if he was seeing things correctly.

 

He cautiously slipped a few of his throwing knives their holster by his thigh, backing out of his room and continuing down the hall.

 

So, he was wrong. There was someone in his apartment, someone who either had his key, or knew how to get past all of the traps and alarms he had around the place. He took a deep breath and stepped into the living room, eyes scanning the area for any changes in the environment. He cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes at his own paranoia before turning to go into the kitchen.

 

He must have gone into his safe before he left and forgot to straighten things out, wouldn’t be the first time. He was just feeling off over everything that had happened while he was on his mission. First he’d had to break into HYDRA and steal the memory chips containing the designs for the new weapons they were supposedly creating. Besides getting the index finger on his left hand broken, it went pretty well. After he had finished up there, he had to run back to the Red Room to drop the files off, as well as getting entrusted with Yasha’s files. Everything to know about James Buchanan Barnes, Project Virus, and everything else one could think of was jammed into two little microchips that were kept in two, slim vials with the lids melted into the glass.

 

Of course it was meant for no one to ever get to the chips, for safety precautions, and no one other than himself and Lukin knew where he kept them, so they were definitely safe.

 

Clint sighed and busied himself with flipping on his coffee machine, pausing for a moment when he heard the floor creak behind him. He grabbed one of his knives and spun around, sending it sailing towards whoever was there. The blade lodged itself into the frame of the bathroom door with a dull thud, followed by Clint’s shaky laugh.

 

“<Bit jumpy there, aren’t we?>” Yasha said, currently curved away from the new hole in his wall.

 

“<Fuck off,>” Clint growled and furrowed his brow. “<How the hell did you get in here?>” He asked, stomach dropping to his feet. Did Yasha know how to hack into his systems? He shouldn’t, they may be Department equipment, but Clint did some fiddling around and made sure that not even the best hacker in the Red Room could get through.

 

Yasha smirked, chuckling softly. “<I swiped your key the last time we saw each other,>” He said and Clint didn’t know if he was trying to be reassuring or not. Probably not.

 

“<Last time we met, I broke your nose and then had to reset it after you helped me out of a collapsed building. Why did you help me out, anyways?>” Clint asked, a small smirk curling across his lips.

 

“<Couldn’t let a few bricks take you away, now could I?>”

 

“<I guess not, now, why are you here today?>”

 

Yasha’s expression went dark at that, a low growl rumbling up his throat. “<You should know why I’m here.>”

 

“<The only reason you could be here is for a nightcap, and I can tell you right now that you can forget it. I’m tired and I’ve still got work to finish up by tomorrow.>” Clint replied, staring the other down and raising his chin in an act of defiance. “<Now leave, before I re-break your nose. It’d be a shame, too, seeing as it healed almost perfectly.>”

 

He grabbed his combat knife from the counter, holding it behind his back as Yasha moved closer. He clenched his jaw when hands went to either side of his face, thumbs brushing over his cheek bones gently. “<No, no, no, you know exactly what I want and you know that I don’t want sex. You give that to me enough.>” Yasha spoke calmly, even as his hands pressed a little harder, his fingers digging into the underside of Clint’s jaw. “<Now, tell me where the files are or I am going to rip your jaw off. Do I make myself clear?>”

 

Clint whimpered and tried to wrench his face free, wincing when he felt the metal of one hand press harder and the nails on the other dig deeper. “<I don’t know what you’re talking about.>” He said and, that technically wasn’t a lie. Yasha could be talking about a number of files, not just his.

 

“<Oh, don’t lie to me like that, Clint,>” The words were whispered into his ear, quickly followed by a punch to his gut. “<Where are the files?>”

 

“<You’ve... you’ve got to be more sp-specific...>” Clint wheezed, grinning up at Yasha. “<Wh-which files?>”

 

Yasha laughed for a minute, sliding his cybernetic hand down Clint’s side, fingers absently stroking around the archer’s ribcage. “<My files, Clint, where are my files?>” He asked, practically hissing before his fingers tightened, pressing down harshly and being rewarded with a sickening snapping sound. “<Oh? Did I just break something?>” He teased at Clint’s pained scream, watching as the blonde crumbled to the ground.

 

“<Laugh at this, asshole.>” Clint growled, bringing his hand around and jamming his knife into Yasha’s thigh, twisting it before yanking it out. He chuckled softly as the man let out a groan and sunk down to his knees. “<Payback’s a bitch, right?>” He said, wincing every time he breathed in. He didn’t wait for a reply, instead using Yasha’s shoulder to push himself up and began heading down the hallway and into his bedroom.

 

Clint rolled his eyes a little when he heard Yasha limp in after him, pushing past him and collapsing onto the bed. Clint trailed after him and grabbed the first aid kit he kept under his bed, popping it open and pulling out the antiseptic spray and a roll of gauze.

 

“<Wipe that smirk off your face,>” He said, hands tugging at the button and zipper of Yasha’s pants, rolling the denim off of his hips and very delicately over the wound in his thigh. He slid the knife he kept under his pillow out, as well as his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “<It’s unsettling.>” He continued, rolling a cigarette into place and lighting up, shaking up the antibacterial spray before spraying it over the wound.

 

“<You’ve always thought it was unsettling.>” Yasha said, hissing when the alcohol burned its way into his skin.

 

“<I should have seriously listened to my gut and not have trusted you,>” He said and frowned when the Russian took the cigarette from between his lips. Clint rolled his eyes, mumbling a _whatever_ before grabbing the knife and his lighter, flicking it to life and running the flames over the blade, waiting until the handle was nearly burning his skin. “ <I’d bite into something,>” Was the only warning he gave before he pressed the metal over Yasha’s wound.

 

Clint winced when Yasha tangled his fingers through his hair, tugging at it until the archer brought away the knife and brought back the antiseptic. “<Stop being such a baby, Yasha.>” He teased and began wrapping the gauze around his thigh. “<You could have a few broken ribs.>”

 

“<Speaking of which,>” Yasha said between clenched teeth. “<You should let me take care of that.>”

 

“<In turn for what?>”

 

“<You know me too well.>”

 

Clint huffed and stood up, groaning when it put too much pressure on his rib cage. “<That’s your own fault. I’ll give you a hint, they’re somewhere in this apartment—>”

 

“<I know where they are, I just need to know the passcode for the safe.>”

 

The blond smirked and shook his head. “<It’s my parents’ old address, from when we lived in Waverly.>”

 

“<Thought you hated them.>”

 

“<I do, but it’s also a place I never want to go back to, so of course I remember it. Just in case I get enough explosives to level a whole neighborhood.>” He joked, well, not really joking, if he was ever going to become a mass murderer just for the hell of it, it’d be for destroying his childhood home.

 

“<Let me guess; you’re not going to tell me the address, are you?>”

 

“<Nope,>” Clint said, sitting up straight and lifting his arms as Yasha gently rolled his shirt up and off. He smiled softly and leaned up, pressing a kiss to the underside of the brunets jaw, letting himself be pulled up and pushed onto the bed.

 

He closed his eyes when fingers ran over his chest and sides, pressing gently until Clint nearly jumped off of the bed, screaming, accompanied by the grinding sound of the bones moving. “<Don’t!>” He yelped, shaking his head. “<I don’t need you moving it completely out of place and making it poke into something vital.>”

 

“<Sorry, but, don’t worry, I don’t think it was a full break. Almost, but not quite. Besides, I only got the bottom two false ribs, you’ll be fine.>”

 

“<..That isn’t very reassuring, are you trying to be reassuring, because it’s not working.>” Clint said, sitting up and wincing again before lying back down.

 

Yasha smirked and leaned down to slide their lips together, his hands moving down to work on unbuckling Clint’s belt and undoing his fly. “<Time to make this a bit more even, hmm?>” He asked before tossing the archers jeans behind him, followed by his own shirt.

 

“<Thought I was supposed to rest with a broken rib,>” Clint said, smirking a little.

 

“<You and I both know that come tomorrow, you’ll be on your feet and out that door to report to the Red Room, despite whatever pain you’re in, so don’t play that with me.>”

 

Clint huffed an annoyed laugh, shaking his head and bringing his hands up to cup Yasha’s face. “<Why are we like this?>”

 

“<Because you’re stubborn and won’t let me in, and I’m just really fucking persistent.>”

 

He ignored the way Yasha trailed his fingers over where his heart should be. If he had one, he still wasn’t exactly sure of that himself. “<No, I mean… how can we go from stabbing and breaking each other to... here?>” He asked, biting his lip as the Russian snuck his hand under the pillow his head was resting on, grabbing the tube of lube he kept hidden under there.

 

"<Because we fit together.>" Yasha said, slicking up his fingers and carefully moving Clint up a little, trying not to jar his ribs. "<You don’t like admitting it, but you know that we do.>"

 

"<I don’t like admitting it because… shit, never mind.>" Clint said softly, followed by a hiss as two fingers were shoved into him, his own fingers fisting into the sheets as he tried to stop from moving too much.

 

"<No,>" Yasha growled, the fingers of his cybernetic arm digging into the flesh of Clint’s thigh. "<Tell me.>"

 

Clint narrowed his eyes and rolled his hips down, successfully loosening the grip on his thigh and getting Yasha to go back to stretching him. He rolled his eyes at the pout the Russian sent his way, biting his lower lip to keep in a moan.

 

"<Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. After you fuck me.>”

 

Yasha gave him a shit-eating grin and removed his fingers, slicking his cock before lining up and pushing into Clint. The archer gave a little smile, turning his head to try and hide it from the other.

 

It was slow, Yasha was deliberately making sure he didn’t further injure Clint— that alone was making him ten times more cautious than usual. Then again, and he doubted it but, Yasha could honestly be making an attempt to not hurt him. Sort of failing, but he was trying, maybe.

 

He glanced over to his closet, the door was open, showing the knives and arrows lodged into the wood of the door and tearing holes into the old Cold War poster that had been left over by the former tenants. He knew some of the arrows were from when he tried to teach Yasha to shoot his bow. He let out a laugh and unconsciously rolled them over, ignoring the pain in his side.

 

Yasha furrowed his brow for a moment, quickly smoothing out his features and letting his hands grab hold of the blond’s hips. “<I should… really take down that poster...>” Clint murmured, rolling his hips and letting out soft mewls every time Yasha thrust his own hips up.

 

"<I’m apparently not keeping you entertained if you’re talking about that.>" The brunet said and flipped them over again, giving a few harsh rolls of his hips, smirking when he rendered Clint silent.

 

They spent the next ten minutes doing that, rolling back and forth until Clint let out a high-pitched keen as he came, whimpering as he tensed up enough to cause an odd tightness in his chest and sides. Yasha tipped over the edge a few minutes later, pulling out and rolling to his knees, making sure his partner was fine.

 

Clint grumbled and slapped away the hands flitting over his side, leaning over to grab his pack of cigarettes from the floor, offering one to Yasha before lighting up.

 

"<You’re smoking a lot more lately.>"

 

"<Thanks for pointing that out.>"

 

They laid there in silent for a few minutes, Clint shivering before he was pulled to Yasha’s chest. He grabbed his ash tray from his side table, setting it on the man’s stomach before wiggling around for a couple of seconds, finding the perfect position to lie in.

 

"<1-2-4-0,>" He mumbled after a while, already halfway done with his third cigarette, Yasha just finishing up his first.

 

The Russian made a soft inquisitive noise, raising a brow.

 

"<That’s the combination for the safe. Use it wisely and don’t go after thing’s you don’t want to know the answers to.>" He commented and shifted so he could look into Yasha’s eyes. "<Also, I don’t like admitting that we fit together because that’s technically me admitting that I’m in love with a fucking psychopath.>" He said and quickly hid his face in the man’s chest, pulling up the sheets a little to hide the pink tint coming to his cheeks.

 

Yasha kept quiet but he still let a smirk settle over his features, pressing a kiss to Clint’s temple. “<You should come to Monte Carlo next week.>”

 

"<Why?>"

 

"<Because that’s where I’ll be, and, if I’m there, the Red Room will probably send you there after me. So, either way, I think you’ll be there.>"

 

Clint made a sound and closed his eyes, yawning before he slipped into sleep.

 

——

 

When Clint woke up Yasha’s side of the bed was empty and cold, the picture that usually rested in front of the safe was broken in half and thrown into his closet, and his ash tray was tipped over on the floor, ash and cigarette butts everywhere.

 

The door to his safe open and he quickly rolled onto his knees, absently noticing the way his ribs were wrapped. Fuck, Yasha must have drugged him in his sleep before doing all this. There was a little slip of paper in the empty safe and he smirked a little, picking it up.

 

_Clint,_

_You smart little shit. There was nothing in here to begin with so I’m guessing you’re keeping those files of mine somewhere else. Well, you’re sleeping so peacefully so I won’t wake you up just yet, but remember, by the time we see each other, those ribs of yours will be healed._

_Monte Carlo. Even if the Department doesn’t send you, I expect you there._

_-Yasha_

 

Clint chuckled and ripped the little note up, rolling his eyes and slipping out of bed. He went to the kitchen, flipping on the coffee machine before throwing away a few shattered dishes and a crumbled up piece of paper away. He noticed that the crumpled up paper was the old Cold War poster that was in his closet and that the knives and arrows were in their rightful places in his weapons case.

 

He smiled a little, leaning back against the island counter as he sipped on his coffee.

 

"You never fail to surprise me, you fucking psychopath." He mumbled to no one, finishing his coffee before going about his morning routine.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, thanks for reading and everything folks. Leave comments and all the like.


End file.
